On her Majesty's s.ecret service

What happened when we sent Savile Row's suavest creative
director to spy school

Spies are
cool...and men want to be them. Glamorised by everyone from Fleming to le Carré, Ludlum-style
espionage is one of our oldest professions. But today's spies seem
more inclined to pass their days trussed up in a suitcase or being
poisoned in a chain sushi bar than ravishing exotic lovelies,
stroking cats and flying helicopters made out of a brolly and some
Meccano.

Enter S.ecret.me.
A school for spies that is as much about being bloody suave as it
is about knowing cyber skills and how to dose a salmon sashimi with
toxic polonium. Holed up in a magnificent house in west Oxfordshire
a crack team instruct the raw recruits on combat weapons,
surveillance, kidnap, threat recognition and evasion (all taught by
former special forces operative from regiments you're not really
supposed to talk about). On top of that you learn how to win at poker, how to spot a spiked cocktail and the
wonderful Immodesty Blaize teaches you a thing or two
about charm and seduction. For my part I was trying to assist in
attaining the skills needed to dress like 007.

After learning your basics, you go on to develop your
skills in overseas mission training, before tackling a week long
spy scenario on board a yacht moored somewhere exotic. It is
seriously amazing. I want to do it. I have no idea how much it
costs but I know it is loads (they don't publish the price). But
this is an experience that really money shouldn't be able to
buy.